Hello! For those of you that don't follow me on Tumblr, there's been quite an absence of my fics on here, and for that, I'm very sorry! I have been writing, quite a lot actually, but I've been posting all my fics on my Tumblr account and neglecting this one a little! I'm very sorry! If you would like to read more of my fics when I post them, rather than me forgetting to re-upload them here, definitely go check out my Tumblr which is on my profile for you! If you like this fic, Like and Reblog it on Tumblr as well~! All my fics are organised by pairing in the 'Fic Master Collection' link on my blog! Big smooches, and sorry for the delay in fics!

My workplace is in this really nice area in Nagatacho, and there are so many lovely restaurants nearby that look so cute and out of place in the super clean city surrounding it. Combine that with a few posts floating about on how to get a free meal at a restaurant, two forever lovable Americans, and you get this Veggie Burgers story! It's a tad sad at the start, but you get a happy ending! I promise!

It was seven in the evening. The air was cool, turning crisp as time went on, the breeze dropping the temperature of the pavement below neat black polished shoes and the surrounding buildings of restaurants and cafés. It looked like an old part of the city, but it was purposefully furbished that way to give it a nostalgic, romantic and magical atmosphere. All types of people came to enjoy the unique neighbourhood; young couples seeking old fashioned romance, the artistic and musical grasping for inspiration, and the elderly just wanting a reunion with an old life they missed too much in the high speed city of electronics and skyscrapers with sharp, perfect edges. The waiters in each restaurant competed to outdo one another in formalwear in blacks and whites of suits, their hair brushed and either tied up or slicked with enough gel that it wasn't shining under the dim lights of electronic wall fixtures and candles, but not so loose that strands were sticking out messily.

It was affordable, yet classy, and that was what had convinced Tommy to make a booking at the Italian restaurant whose name he could never read, much less hope to pronounce, the lettering in a large fancy cursive white on a red background board with a golden outline.

It was seven fifteen in the evening, still a quarter of an hour until his reservation time began, and he stood before the front of the restaurant looking about with cool eyes and a hopeful smile. He was still early, had told his date not to arrive until twenty past, so there was still time to wait.

Music played softly from indoors, and the only thing that would have made it sweeter was if it was coming from a live band and not the speakers tucked into corners of the restaurant. The violins were sweet, the orchestra accompanying soft and melodic with an accordion calling out in Italian tunes that made Tommy feel as though he had truly been transported to the land of perfect spaghetti, pizza, gondolas and love.

It was seven twenty in the evening, and he straightened his back, squared his shoulders and tilted his chin upwards, red-brown eyes widened from their usual lazy droop, dark and thick lashes brushing his tanned cheek as he began to look more avidly through the crowd. His date should be arriving soon, perhaps a little late, but that was okay, because they still had time. His own hair was brushed neatly, a bit of gel stuck in it to tame some of the wild chocolate coloured strands that simply wouldn't stay down, the highlights glowing cherry coloured in the lighting.

It was seven twenty five in the evening, and his suit felt too constricting around his chest, feeling as though his muscles would bust out. He amused himself by flexing his arms and pectorals subtly, testing to see the restraints of the fabric and watching the creases and folds shifting. It was just a simple white shirt, neatly ironed and button down, tucked into dark black straight slacks, held up by a polished belt. It was his first fancy date, and he hadn't been sure what to wear, but judging by all of the other couples in elegant and well cared for clothes, he hadn't been too far off with wearing the nicest shirt and pants he had, even if he had to go out of his way to buy a new pair of shoes. Taking all of his piercings out had been troublesome as well, and not to mention trying to find a way to cover his tattoos that showed through even beneath his shirt, forcing himself into a singlet and then the fancy dress shirt on top.

It was seven thirty in the evening, and anxiety had started to climb, having stepped towards the receptionist to announce that he was there and wasn't late for his reservation, just waiting on his date. The lady had been kind enough to place a card on his chosen table with the words 'Reserved' written in Italian to avoid other newcomers from taking his table. It was good that he had booked it in advance, considering it was quite busy that night.

It was seven thirty five in the evening, and Tommy had been softly requested to go inside to wait, being lead in by the receptionist and handed off to a blond waiter who smiled enough to extinguish the sun itself, guiding him the rest of the way. He was cute, a soft southern American accent to his voice, and the way he mispronounced the name of the restaurant and some basic Italian made the tanned male smirk lazily, sliding into his seat whilst fingering the menu.

"Let me know when you've chosen and I'll come back to take your order," the waiter, named Alfred as he had introduced himself, spoke, his smile bright as he placed down two extra laminated sheets, "Here's the wine menu, and here are your specials. Feel free to use the bell to call for service. I'm in charge of this section, so I'll be with you as soon as I can."

Tommy smiled as he watched the waiter give a polite bow, a few golden bangs brushing along a sun kissed forehead—pale in comparison to him, but the other wasn't paper white. He was a pretty colour.

It was seven forty five in the evening, a quarter of an hour past the arranged meeting time, and Tommy was fiddly, restless, searching desperately, eyes darting back and forward across faces and heads as they passed, worrying the inside of his cheek, fingers laced and thumbs twiddling atop of his menu on the table. He had already decided what to eat.

It was seven fifty five when Alfred returned, smile kind but eyebrows not so joyful, looking down to the other American, coughing softly to announce his presence, jolting Tommy from his thoughts, making him jerk up slightly, back straightening, looking up wide eyed at Alfred, expectant at first, though disappointment shone quickly.

"May I take your order yet? Have you decided? We have other customers, and the kitchen gets busy, so…" The blond trailed off watching as Tommy glanced back to the door, neck craning.

"Five more minutes?" he asked, voice strained, looking back to the waiter pleadingly, "I'm just waitin' on my date. They're late, 'n', maybe they're lost? Five minutes? Please?"

Alfred smiled, lips pressing a little thin.

"Five more minutes," he promised softly.

Five minutes passed in a slow pace that felt as though a snail was dragging the hands of his wrist watch and having to pull through the slime it got caught in.

It was eight in the evening exactly, half an hour late, and Tommy's shoulders were beginning to droop, staring fixatedly at the open door of the restaurant, not even responding when the waiter returned, clicking his pen and poising it on his notepad, coughing softly again.

"Tomato basil pasta, 'n' a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon red wine, please, garlic bread side. I'm a vegan, so don't go puttin' no meat in my food thanks," Tommy croaked out, not even looking up to the waiter as he placed his order, not wanting to look away from the door.

They would come… Surely they would come soon…

The food came first, in the end, at eight twenty five in the evening as the smell of freshly made bread toasted with garlic complimented the rich tomato basil pasta perfectly, the scent feeding directly into his nostrils with the way the breeze was blowing. It felt cold now. Tommy's shoulders had long since fallen low, muscles loose in the shirt but still well defined and straining the fabric, eyes back to half lidded and droopy, though this time not with suave laziness, but with hurt. Thick lashes brushed along his cheek as he picked up his cutlery, blinking back the ache in his chest of yet another disappointment, fork twirling pasta on his spoon to make it easier to lift to his lips and eat. He'd looked that up on the internet too—so that he could look and eat neat in public and not be an embarrassment or a nuisance. All he'd wanted was to get a bit of tomato sauce on his lips or cheek and have his date giggle, lean over and wipe it away with a napkin or even lean in that little bit more and steal a soft kiss.

It was eight forty five in the evening, and Tommy was grateful that his back was to the restaurant goers behind him, his eyes sparkling a bit too much in the candlelight, but not the way he had wanted. The second glass of his wine was drunk hastier than the first, the violins less sweet and leaning towards sorrowful, the urge to grab his chair and smash the speakers open until they silenced growing high.

On the fourth glass of wine, his wristwatch struck over to nine in the evening just as a tear swelled against his lashes, taking in a shaky breath. It was barely a minute later that a plate of dessert slid before him, neatly cut and beautiful looking and he jerked his head up, hardly able to see Alfred's pitiful smile through his own tears that he refused to shed.

"I made sure it was vegan. Tiramisu cake… On the house," Alfred assured, collecting the empty and eaten from plates, stacking them carefully in one hand, checking the bottle for emptiness, finding it still half full, "Wait here."

Disappearing, Tommy didn't bother to look where the waiter had gone to, the tears finally spilling over; a perfect picture of miserable and pitiful trash. That's what he was. Trash in a suit, sitting in a restaurant surrounded by happy couples and he couldn't even make it to the first date without somehow fucking up. His bottom lip was trembling now, not making a sound as the tears rolled over his cheeks in little streams and dripped to his lap, soaking into his pants.

"I really am the worst… The worst… I deserve this…"

The clock was forgotten, the time no longer mattering, only knowing that it was late evening and that his date had been a no-show, that he had been stood up, and he was now going to have to face the walk of shame to the entrance after paying the bill with nothing to show but a lighter wallet, puffy red eyes, a wet face and a defeated gait with no sweetheart.

No sweetheart again…

The chair across from him scraped against the tiles and Tommy lifted his head only when a finger slid beneath his chin, a napkin dabbing beneath his eyes and long, dark bottom lashes, finding Alfred sitting across from him with a kind and sympathetic smile, gently cleaning the tanned American's face of his tears.

"Don't you like the tiramisu? Was it that bad?" Alfred asked, pushing forward a glass of water, sliding away the wine glass half full for the fifth time, "I can get you something else if you want?"

Tommy frowned a little, tears rolling straight onto the napkin as Alfred continued to clean gently, leaning over the two plates of additional desserts—a new addition to the table.

"I don't need no pity," Tommy grunted, hands balled into fists on his lap, jaw setting tightly, "It ain't my first time bein' stood up."

Alfred's expression grew sad, the empathy practically dripping from his face and it only made Tommy feel worse.

"What time were they meant to be here?" Alfred asked slowly, glancing to the clock.

"Seven thirty."

The blond winced, turning back to Tommy who was crying fresh again, chest hiccupping silently and shoulders shaking.

"I'm sorry."

Tommy said nothing, staring at his untouched dessert, trying hard to ignore the scribble of pen on paper when Alfred's hands withdrew, expecting a bill to slide through, ready for the high cost, only to find a series of other digits before him along with sun kissed fingers pressing the ripped piece of paper closer, making him look up in confusion.

"My number… I don't know, you can bin it if you like, but, you're pretty handsome and… y'know… it'd be a shame and…" Alfred trailed off, smiling lopsidedly, a blush colouring his cheeks, "I'm working right now, but, maybe tomorrow, we can go for a coffee?"

Red-brown eyes blinked widely, watching as the waiter stood up, plugging the bottle of wine up, smiling down at him.

"I'll only charge for half a bottle, and the cakes are on the house," Alfred promised, stepping to the dumbstruck American's side, leaning in, and brushing soft lips against the heated tan cheek, "Call me?"

Standing up quickly, Alfred glanced around, fixing his glasses, making sure nobody had seen before grinning down brightly at Tommy once more.

"I'll bring your bill in a few minutes and pretend to wait for you to count your cash so I can keep you company while you eat. Tell me about yourself then, okay?"

With that, the blond was gone, briskly walking away, ears coloured red to match his cheeks as Tommy watched, baffled, his own cheeks dusted a dark pink before he glanced to the paper by his fingers once more. There, messily scrawled, was Alfred's name, his mobile number, as well as two little crosses he recognised as little kisses.

Sniffling, he couldn't help but grin, wiping roughly at his eyes with the back of his hand, checking his wrist watch for the last time.

In the end, it hadn't been a waste, and Tommy didn't see why he couldn't come back for more Italian so long as Alfred was there, either serving him, or sitting opposite of him.

The next time he came, they were sharing a table, fifteen minutes early, and ordering a vegan tiramisu to share.

Being stood up hadn't been too bad in the end.